Tymber Dalton - Safe Harbor

“You will always be my first responsibility, slave. Always.” He kissed the back of Mac’s neck and untangled himself before climbing the stairs.

Clarisse didn’t reappear until Mac softly tapped on her bedroom door and called her out for dinner. As soon as they finished dinner and after Mac refused her help with the dishes, she disappeared again.

Sully walked up behind him and laid his hand on Mac’s shoulder.

“Give her time to adjust and decompress,” he softly said before returning to his office.

An hour later, Mac walked into Sully’s office, closed the door behind him, and knelt on the floor next to Sully’s chair. He didn’t speak, simply bowed his head and waited.

Sully finished the paragraph he was writing and saved the file before laying his hand on Mac’s head. “Yes, slave?”

“May I respectfully request something?”

“Of course.”

“Can we go downstairs? Now? I…need it.”

Sully expected he knew exactly what Mac needed. With Clarisse’s fragile mental state, Sully didn’t want to risk freaking her out.

Witnessing them and their normal ways without prior explanation would definitely freak her out in her present state of mind. They couldn’t use their playroom or she’d hear them. Downstairs, in the exercise room, would be better.

“Do you want punishment or release?”

“Can we do both?”

If Mac was asking for that, combined with his formal request, he was in serious emotional pain. Sully nodded. “Are all your chores done for the night?”

“Yes, Master.”

“All right. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes. You may go.”

Sully waited until Mac’s departure to let out a huge breath. He’d found early on that Mac’s deep masochistic streak was both a blessing and a curse. Sully soon discovered his own streak of sadism, which dovetailed nicely into their dynamic. Even more important, Mac wasn’t just a pain pig, although he did enjoy it. He also used physical pain to help him process emotional pain.

Mac didn’t normally ask for a heavy scene unless he deeply hurt inside, even though he could and would willingly take one without question or complaint. Part of Mac’s willing submission in their relationship was that he rarely asked for things like this, only when he truly needed them. Otherwise, he felt asking for things equated to topping from the bottom, something he hated doing. The only reason he asked at all was because Sully ordered him to never ignore his deepest needs.

Sully walked to their bedroom and grabbed a duffel bag. Even though he was only going downstairs, he didn’t want Clarisse to accidentally spot him carrying what he’d need. He took his MP3 player, the punishment cane he kept in their bedroom, Mac’s wrist cuffs, the bottle of cucumber lotion, towels, and a light blanket. After checking that Clarisse was in her room, he walked down the hall to their playroom and quickly punched in the lock code.

They hadn’t shown her this room yet, and would not show her until he had a chance to sit and talk with her. Inside lay their well-stocked private dungeon. He quickly strode over to the tall cabinet and selected a riding crop, another cane, a light flogger, a severe flogger, and ankle cuffs. He also took several straps he needed to convert the weight bench, as well as some first-aid supplies.

After a little thought, he added a large ball gag. Mac would want him to use a whip for the sting, but that would be too loud. He’d have to stick with the canes, which meant he’d most likely cut him.

He stopped by Clarisse’s bedroom door. “Are you okay?” he called to her.

He heard her sniffling. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Mac and I are going downstairs to work out. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m okay.”

He brushed his fingers over the doorknob. He wanted to walk inside and hold her, to comfort her the way Mac could.

He knew he couldn’t, that he had to let her decide to trust him in her own time. “We’ll have the door locked. I’ll leave my cell number on the counter, because we won’t be able to hear you over the music.

I’ll see my cell ring.” Well, that was close enough to the truth to not be a lie. She would assume they were really working out or having sex.

Not that he was beating the shit out of Mac.

“Thanks, Sully.”

He jotted the number on the notepad and left it by the phone on the counter. He shivered in his short sleeves as he descended the stairs. Inside the workout room, Mac had already closed all the blinds and bumped up the thermostat a little to take the chill out of the air.

Naked, he waited, kneeling on the cold tile floor with his head bowed.

Sully saw his flesh pimpled with goose bumps. “Stand up. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Mac complied while Sully locked the door and hooked up his MP3 player. He found his heavy scene playlist, a selection of songs that would help him quickly drop Mac into subspace. With the player plugged into the stereo he cranked the volume loud enough that Clarisse wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the music, but the neighbors wouldn’t complain. It only took him a few minutes to prepare the weight bench, turning it into a makeshift bondage bench.

He stood in front of Mac. “Look at me, slave,” he softly commanded.

Mac lifted his head. His eyes had already started glazing over. It always amazed Sully how quickly Mac dropped into subspace, faster than anyone he’d ever met since their time in the lifestyle.

“Wrists,” Sully commanded.

Mac lifted his arms as Sully fixed first one leather cuff, then the other around them, including the small padlocks.

He pointed to the bench where he’d laid a towel. “Face-down, slave.”

Mac complied without hesitation. Sully quickly attached his wrist cuffs to the straps, the angle spreading his arms wide and tight. Then he knelt behind him, affixed the ankle cuffs, locked them, and hooked them to another set of straps. Spread, his legs were immobilized, leaving his ass an open and easy target.

Sully stroked Mac’s ass. He still bore stripes from the evening before, bruises that would normally heal within a few days. Then he drew back his hand and smacked him hard, on the left ass cheek.

Mac didn’t jump.

Sully leaned in close so he didn’t have to yell over the music.

“Where are you, slave?”

“Green, Master.” Mac’s eyes had closed. Sully knew that he’d already started his withdrawal into his deep place, as they’d dubbed it, where he could let go and deal with whatever troubled him.

It was the only way he could.

Sully quickly stripped his shirt off and grabbed a small rubber ball out of the bag. He pressed it into Mac’s left palm and closed his fingers around it. “Safety, slave.”

“Yes, Master.”

Sully fitted him with the large leather ball gag, an expensive one Mac could safely bite down on and scream through and still be able to breathe without much additional effort. When he finished adjusting the straps, he stroked Mac’s hair. “Where are we?”

Mac rotated his left wrist, their signal for green.

Sully took a moment to stretch and loosen his arms. Then he picked up the mild flogger and started on Mac, from shoulders to ass and back again. As far as their ritual had already sunk Mac into subspace, Sully could have started heavier and Mac would have been okay, but he preferred staying with their usual routine.

After ten minutes, the skin of Mac’s back, ass, and thighs had turned pink. Sully switched to the heavier flogger and continued.

Before long, just from watching Mac’s breathing, he knew Mac had flown over the edge to his deep place.

That’s when Sully picked up the pace. He used the springy riding crop along the back of Mac’s thighs, alternating between slaps with the flapper and stokes with the shaft. Then he laid the punishment cane across Mac’s ass and tapped him lightly with it in warning. With his free hand firmly pressing on Mac’s lower back to hold him in place, Sully delivered the eight punishment strokes, viciously, as hard as he could, two of which drew thin lines of blood.